


You Do the Washing, I'll Do the Folding

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana made a promise to a girl and a baby, and after that, things just sort of happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Do the Washing, I'll Do the Folding

Sometimes, she dreams about her last day in Lima. Elizabeth is only three and they’re standing in the driveway of Puck’s house, lingering as Puck tries to pretend he’s not crying.

“Take care of my girls, Lopez,” he says hoarsely, holding Elizabeth tight against his chest.

The little girl smiles and giggles, peppering Puck’s face with little kisses. “I’m your girl.”

He nods, his eyes welling up again and Santana takes this as her cue to lean in and pluck Elizabeth out of his arms before he never lets go. Elizabeth doesn’t stop moving in her grasp until she’s sitting high on Santana’s shoulders, her little feet digging into Santana’s shoulders.

“God,” Quinn sighs, smiling. “You’re going to see her in a month, Noah. So man up and use those muscles to put the rest of the boxes in the trunk, okay?”

Santana laughs, spinning in a circle while Elizabeth lets out a whoop above her, and Puck rolls his eyes, subtly wipes at them, and lifts the boxes of books – the ones Quinn couldn’t move to the city without – into the back of the rented U-Haul.

She reaches up and lifts Elizabeth over her head onto the ground and the little girl kisses her daddy a few more times before she scrambles into the backseat, squirming as Quinn tucks her into her car seat.

“Why are you even going with them again?” Puck asks lowly.

Santana rolls her eyes. “We’ve talked about this already.”

Puck crosses his arms over his chest. “Remind me again.”

“I made a promise to a girl and a baby,” is all she says, looking at Quinn smile triumphantly, shutting the backdoor.

“All set?”

Santana nods, but Puck looks like he’s ready to burst into tears again, so she punches him hard in the shoulder and hugs him quickly before he can protest, then pats Quinn on the shoulder and slides into the driver’s seat; she’s going to drive the first leg, and Quinn will be the one driving when they pull into the city.

The passenger door shuts and Quinn is grinning at her. “Ready?”

She opens her mouth but no words come out, just a low, droning buzz.

Santana groans and rolls over in bed, slamming her hand down on her alarm clock a few times until the buzzing stops. She buries her face in her pillow and groans again, the noise drowned out by the fabric.

A soft knock on her bedroom door pulls her out of bed. She swings her legs around the edge, hissing when her feet touch the cold wood floor and yells, “Come in.”

Blond hair peeks around the door. “Mama says get up or you’ll be late for classes.”

Santana rolls her eyes and falls back against the bed, her arms coming up over her face. She hears tiny feet against the floor and there’s a cold little hand pressing down on her knee cap, the bed on her left side dipping down.

“Get up, get up, get up.” Her head bobs up and down with the movements until Santana groans again, the growls, and rolls, trapping the little girl in her arms. She makes a low, mean sound in the back of her throat, lifting her arms over her head, little sneakered-feet kicking the empty air.

She runs, blind, into the kitchen and lets the small girl loose when she feels a wooden spoon slap against her arm.

“Ow.”

Quinn smirks. “You’re acting like a child.”

Elizabeth grins proudly from the kitchen table. “Yeah, like a child,” she says, echoing her mother.

Santana waits until Quinn turns back to the stove before she sticks her tongue out at Elizabeth.

“Stop it, Santana.”

Her eyes widen and Elizabeth giggles a bit. “How did you-”

“Eyes in the back of my head,” Quinn says dismissively, turning back to the table with a plate of eggs in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. “That, and you’re entirely too predictable.”

“She’s  _baiting_ me,” Santana complains, taking the coffee cup and passing the plate to Elizabeth, handing her a fork from the center of the table reflexively.

“She’s seven,” Quinn counters.

“She’s  _evil_.”

“Am not,” Elizabeth protests, glaring at Santana.

“Stop calling my child evil,” Quinn says, filling the third seat around the kitchen table. “And you,” she says, pointing a finger at her daughter. “Stop chewing with your mouth full.”

This time, Santana doesn’t even wait until Quinn has turned her back before sticking her tongue out at Elizabeth, but the satisfaction of doing it makes the smack on the arm worth it.

“I feel like I’m raising two children sometimes,” Quinn says out loud. Elizabeth grins and Santana rolls her eyes. “It’s like I have a seven-year-old and a twenty-three-year-old. You know, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth echoes. “She didn’t sign up for this.”

Santana opens her mouth, but her eyes sweep the kitchen as she does and she catches sight of the clock and her coffee ricochets off the back of her teeth, but she manages to close her mouth in time, stopping the lukewarm liquid from sprinkling the white of Elizabeth’s shirt brown, like the last time.

“Why didn’t you tell me what time it was?”

“I told Elizabeth to tell you what time it was,” Quinn says through a mouthful of eggs. She swallows. “I told her to tell you that you’d be late for class.”

“I did,” Elizabeth says proudly, slamming her fork against her ceramic plate.

Santana winces at the noise and rolls her eyes, already moving through the small apartment, grabbing the first pair of jeans she can find on the floor that look clean. She finds a white tank under her pillow and after quickly glancing through Quinn’s side of the closet puts a black Oxford over it. There’s no time to put her contacts in, but she does find her Converse shoes, mixed in with Elizabeth’s sneakers by the front door.

As she’s passing through the kitchen, Elizabeth jumps from her chair onto Santana’s back, locking her legs around Santana’s waist. At the front door, Quinn tugs her off and Santana slides her backpack on, ruffling Elizabeth’s ponytail.

“Be good, rugrat.”

Elizabeth frowns. “No way.”

Santana grins and winks. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Stop corrupting her and go to class,” Quinn commands, pulling open the apartment door.

“I’m going,  _dear_.”

Elizabeth giggles and after a moment, Quinn’s mouth tips upward. “Can you pick her up from school?”

“Sure. What time are you going to be home?”

Quinn shrugs. “I’m closing tonight, so who knows.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Santana says, tightening the straps on her bag.

“No macaroni and cheese for dinner.”

Both Elizabeth and Santana groan.

“But  _mom-_ ”

“Macaroni and cheese is the-”

Quinn tips her head down, narrowing her eyes and they both close their mouths quickly. “Fine,” Santana huffs dramatically. “I’ll pick up something on the way home,” she concedes.

“Good,” Quinn says, looking over her shoulder into the hall, waving to the old woman in apartment 4B.

Santana shakes her head furiously at Elizabeth and the little girl’s frown slides into a smile, because Santana shaking her head that way only means one thing: they’re going to listen to whatever her mom said and do the opposite.

Her head to comes a complete, violent stop as Quinn turns back around and when the blond lifts an eyebrow in her direction, Santana just smiles back, grabbing her key ring off the table by the door and tucking it in her pocket. She leans down, offering her cheek, and Elizabeth lifts up onto her tiptoes and kisses her quickly, pausing to whisper “ _mac and cheese_ ” before she giggles and runs back to the kitchen.

Quinn frowns. “What was that?”

“I have no idea,” Santana lies, stepping past the threshold and into the hall, hooking her thumbs through her beltloops, taking her steps backwards, carefully, smirking. “Have a good day, sweetie,” she sings, winking at the old woman in 4B who only shakes her head and mutters something in Portuguese that Santana can’t understand.

She gets halfway down the street before she hears Quinn calling her name, so she turns and waits as the blond stops, panting, but smiling.

“You forgot this,” she says, holding out a brown bag, folded over at the top.

Santana takes it and grins, sliding her bag off one shoulder and tucking her lunch inside. “Turkey and cheese?” she asks, fingers crossed in her pocket.

Quinn nods. “Turkey and cheese,” she confirms, rolling her eyes.

“You’re the best, Q.”

“Don’t forget that,” Quinn says, turning back towards the apartment building.

Santana chases after her a few steps, tugging her back around and smiling. “Thanks,” she says again, leaning in and kissing the corner of Quinn’s mouth. She pulls back a little, but Quinn’s fingers are already threaded around Santana’s thumbs in the loops of her jeans, pulling her back in.

“No macaroni and cheese,” she feels Quinn whisper against her mouth.

“Sure,” she agrees, kissing Quinn lightly one more time before taking a full step back, because she’s definitely going to be late for class now. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Quinn nods and smiles. “Good. See you when you get home” She pauses and frowns. “I’m serious, Santana.”

Santana nods and turns, smiling to herself.  _What Quinn doesn’t know won’t hurt her_.


End file.
